


A Light in the Darkness

by richmahogany



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6219454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmahogany/pseuds/richmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Down and out on the streets of New York, John doesn't care much if he lives or dies. One day he encounters a stranger on a mission to save another homeless person's life, and for a fleeting moment he can believe that there might have been a better future for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> An extra, non-canonical meeting between Harold and John I invented. Takes place after the encounter at New Rochelle, but before the first "official" meeting.

John awoke at sunrise. He huddled deeper into his blankets. The night had been frosty, and it was still very cold. It was too early to be awake as well. Nothing to look forward to, just another day of trying to pass the time. Trying to survive on the streets, though these days he wasn’t trying very hard. It didn’t matter either way.

John dug into his sleeping bag and brought up a bottle. It was still about a quarter full, so he took a sip and then another. He needed a certain level of intoxication to make the day bearable. Not drunk, just a bit to take the edge off. He hid the bottle again, lay down and dozed off. The day could wait.

He woke up properly again two hours later. No dozing off again now, everybody around him in the homeless camp was stirring, waking up, making noise. He sat up and looked around. This was one of the better camps he had been in, a derelict warehouse. The walls kept out some of the cold at least, and if you could get a spot where the roof wasn’t leaking, you could make yourself quite comfortable. John felt hungry now, so he dug out his bottle again and drained it. The alcohol would keep the hunger pangs at bay for a while. He could set about finding something to eat later.

Something was happening. He could feel a change in the atmosphere, in the general noise of the place. There was a tension spreading, and it was coming from the other end of the warehouse, where the big double doors stood open. He looked, and saw that a stranger had strayed into the camp.  
A stranger who was quite clearly in the wrong place. Well dressed in an expensive overcoat and fine leather shoes, he stood out like a sore thumb. It happened occasionally that “normal” people lost their way and turned up in the camp, and they usually sensed the danger and tried to get away again as quick as they could. If they were lucky, it just ended with them having to hand over their wallets, watches and phones. John felt almost sorry for this guy, because he looked particularly vulnerable. He was small, rather frail, and limping so badly that he could barely walk. As John observed him, though, he realized that he had not lost his way at all. He must have known the danger he put himself in by coming here, but he was not afraid. He was tense, sure, but he had come here for a purpose. John saw him look around and stop now and then to talk to people. He was looking for someone. Miraculously, so far nobody had accosted him. Eventually he came past the spot where John was sitting, and John got an even better look at him. Big blue eyes behind thick glasses, and a face that didn’t give anything away. To a trained observer like John though, the mixture of pain and determination was visible enough. Whatever it was this man wanted, it had to be something important.

“Excuse me,” he addressed John, “I’m looking for Mr Fisher – Lawrence Fisher – is he here?”

John stared at him. Nobody had addressed him this politely in a long while, and particularly not in such a gentle, well-spoken voice. He stayed silent, hoping that the man would speak again. He wanted to hear more of that voice.

“Please,” the man said, “I have to find him.”

There was a pleading tone now in that voice, a sense of urgency. John pointed towards a man sitting only a few feet away.

“Larry,” he said, his own voice only a rough whisper. “That’s him – red ballcap.”

“Thank you,” said the stranger and moved on.

John strained his ears to hear what he would have to say to Larry. He still didn’t want to let go of that voice that spoke to him of gentleness, of goodness.

“Mr Fisher?” he heard the stranger say now. “I have come here to warn you. Your life is in danger.”

“What?” Larry said with a laugh. “And why is that?”

“I know you were a Wall Street trader, but you also did some business deals with one of the crime syndicates. They accused you of stealing their money. They tortured you to make you reveal where you had hidden it. But you escaped.”

“But I didn’t have their money!” Larry spluttered.

“No, you didn’t. They realized that, too. But they still can’t let you live. You know too much. Besides, it’s a point of honor for them now. You know that they are still pursuing you, that’s why you are hiding here. But they’ve found out where you are.”

“Oh, so they’ve sent you to kill me, is that it?” Larry said, looking the crippled man up and down with a sneer.

“Hardly,” the stranger replied. “I have just come here to warn you. Your life is in danger. You need to take extra care.”

“How do you know all this anyway if you don’t work for them?”

“That’s irrelevant. I just know. And please believe me, some really is going to kill you. Perhaps it would be best if you left town altogether and didn't come back.”

“And how am I gonna do that? Since I didn’t take their money? I don’t live here just because I need to hide, you know. I have no job, no money, no nothing.”

“If you decide to leave, that can be arranged,” the stranger said calmly and reached into his coat pocket.

John tensed. Was the guy really so naïve as to hand over a pile of cash there and then? If he did that, John wouldn’t be the only one to notice, and he wouldn’t get out of here alive. And Larry could well be killed before that crime syndicate could get to him.

The stranger took something out of his pocket and handed it to Larry. John was relieved to see that it was just a piece of paper.

“If you decide to leave,” the stranger repeated, “meet me there at seven tonight. Please, I’m serious about this. You should definitely think about it.”

With that he considered his job done and turned to leave.

John was surprised that he felt a pang of sadness. He didn’t want the man to leave. He wanted to hear him speak again in that nice voice. There was an aura around him of innocence, of integrity, of compassion – things that hadn’t been part of John’s life for a long time. He just had this feeling that if he could spend some time in the presence of this man, it would make him a better person. This man had come here in spite of his debilitating injuries, in spite of the danger he put himself in, to save a random homeless person he had absolutely no connection to. John couldn’t figure out how the stranger knew about Larry’s past or the current threat to him, and he wasn’t sure any of it was actually true. But the stranger clearly believed it – John could tell that he was absolutely serious. People didn’t do things if there wasn’t anything in it for themselves, that was John’s experience. But this man only had one motive, to save some else’s life, without expecting anything in return. That was something so rare that John felt himself touched by it. In a cruel and miserable world, it was as if this man had lit a candle in the darkness, and John didn’t want to let go of him and the light he had brought. But he would leave, and John would never see him again. He would sink back into the darkness and forget this fleeting glimpse of light that had made him think just for a moment that there could be a life worth living out there for him.

The stranger passed him on his way out. The strain that the simple act of walking put on him was now clearly showing in his face, but he didn’t slow down as he made his way to the open door. He had remained unmolested so far, but now two guys came up to him from behind. John had seen them around, two young men he knew to be crack addicts. Of course, someone obviously wealthy, but also small and disabled, meant easy pickings for them. One of them pulled out a knife as he stepped closer to the stranger, who was still oblivious to the threat. But now John’s protective instincts kicked in. He couldn’t allow anything to happen to the man. His ingrained skills took over as he rolled to his feet. With a few steps he was behind the two addicts, grabbing one of them in a chokehold and wrenching the knife from his hand, while delivering a kick to the other’s groin that had him doubling over with a moan. The stranger looked round at the commotion behind him, realizing what was happening – that he had narrowly escaped an attack, thanks to the tall homeless man whose face was hidden behind a wild beard. For a moment their eyes met, and for some reason there was more surprise than fear in the other man’s gaze. Then the stranger whispered “thank you”, turned round and limped towards the door as fast as he could manage.

John held tightly onto the addict he had in a headlock until he saw that the little man had left the building and was gone. He kicked the other would-be attacker again for good measure, then he pushed the junkie he was holding away from him and made his way back to his corner. Ignoring the angry voices behind him, he rolled up his blankets and sleeping bag, tucked his belongings away and headed out himself to deal with the business of the day, which was to get together enough change for a new whisky bottle and maybe something to eat.

Two days later, Larry Fisher was run over by a speeding SUV right in front of the warehouse. John watched the whole thing through an alcoholic haze, but didn’t react. The strange man and the glimpse of light he had brought with him were already forgotten.


End file.
